Don't Ask Me to Remember
by DarknessIsTheLight
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle did not possess the capacity to love, or so Albus Dumbledore believed until he discovers Annabelle Reed. She is persuaded to tell her story of a dark but undeniably true love between herself and the man who grew to become Lord Voldemort
1. The Utterly Impossible

Had anyone been present to witness the current Hogwarts Headmaster's behavior, they would have reported that Albus Dumbledore, as always, appeared calm and content as he absentmindedly drummed his fingers on his desk with a careful grin plastered on his aging face. He sat leaning back against the old mahogany wood of his high-backed chair with his ankles crossed carelessly under the creaking desk, his eyes glued expectantly to the door at the front of the office. Inside, however, the old wizard's mind was frantically racing. His hunt for Horcruxes was ultimately failing. One glance at his charred and blackened hand was enough to remind him of this. The ring had been one of the two Horcruxes- _two Horcruxes!_- that had successfully been destroyed. Four...well, five...still remained hidden in Merlin knew what places. He had begun to give up hope. Even in the unlikely even that he _did_ manage to locate all of the remaining Horcruxes, killing Voldemort would still have to come at a great cost, not necessarily to himself, but to someone whose death would be much more catastrophic than his own. The vanquishing of the Dark Lord would require the death of the boy who least deserved it. What's more, it would mean the death of the boy who served as an icon of hope in these darkest of times. There had to be another way. However, try as he might, Dumbledore simply couldn't find it.

Then, suddenly and inexplicably, it had found him. A memory had appeared in his silver candy dish that always sat faithfully on his desktop. He knew for absolute certain that he had not been the one to put it there. This was for two reasons, the first being that he would never have been so careless as to leave so valuable a possession lying unprotected in a candy dish. The second was the odd little container that it had been placed in. The memory was placed in a very small, emerald green box which appeared as if it were meant to hold a piece of jewelry. The cover of the box was decorated with two very dark green snakes whose bodies were so intricately intertwined that one might think that the box sported only one snake that possessed two heads. Rather more significant than the jewelry box was the memory it contained.

Dumbledore knew enough to realize that this memory had not been tampered with. The signs of a modified memory were far too conspicuous to entertain the idea that he had missed them...but this...this was impossible! He cursed himself for not putting the pieces together during the time he had taught the person to whom the memory belonged in the subject of Transfiguration over fifty years before, but how could he when neither of the two people it involved offered a single piece to begin with? The boy...well, that was understandable, believable...but the girl? And of all the girls this boy had come into contact with...her? Granted she was quite a gifted witch, but she had been so utterly detached, uninterested in the rest of humanity, so closed off to everyone she came into contact with...romantic inclinations, frankly, were the last of the ambitions he'd expected this girl to have. Then again, that was certainly something that she and the boy had in common. Alright, so romance was very slightly possible, but what Dumbledore was hoping lay hidden beneath this memory was far, far less so...but still, there was hope.

The Headmaster's thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of the door on the opposite side of the room, and the woman he had been waiting for entered his office. She was an unremarkable woman in appearance in that she was of average height with ghostly pale skin and dull gray eyes. In contrast, though in her late sixties, she showed remarkably few signs of age. Her complexion remained smooth and healthy, and her elegant posture had not suffered with time. The only indication of the fact that she was getting on a bit in years were the silver-tipped roots gleaming at the crown of her long, jet-black hair. She still appeared, Dumbledore noted, as guarded as she had been for the single year he had known her. Everything about her, her stance, her expression, the position of her hands folded neatly behind her back as she strode toward his desk, had an air of defensiveness about it, as if she were constantly afraid that some dark secret of hers would be revealed. This time, however, Albus was determined to ensure that it was.

"Dumbledore," the woman said slowly, with a slight nod of her head.

"Miss Reed," Albus replied with precisely the same tone.

She looked slightly taken aback. Dumbledore had anticipated this, for Annabelle Reed had taken on an entirely different name during her time at Hogwarts, and she supposedly had never revealed her true name to anyone, and certainly not to him. It was only natural for her to expect that her facade would have lived on all these years, especially since the letter he had sent her had been addressed to her false name.

"How do you know my name?" Annabelle inquired immediately, her eyebrows narrowed in suspicion.

Dumbledore chuckled to himself before saying, "My dear, when you are in such a position as I am, discovering someone's identity, even one as carefully concealed as yours, is one of the easier things that you can accomplish."

He could tell that Annabelle wanted to say something but was holding herself back, so he waited patiently as she stared at her own hands, her eyebrows furrowed, holding an inward struggle within her mind. Finally, she decided to speak.

"That's not the only thing you seem to have figured out," she snapped, appearing rather irritated, "though I don't know how...well, it doesn't matter, I suppose. Go on then, let's hear it."

"Hear what, my dear?"

"Fine. You want me to say it? I'll say it. What have you found out? How much do you know?"

This woman had come into his office ready to fight a battle. This was not what he had been hoping for, but he would have been very foolish indeed if he had not expected it. Annabelle, or Heather, as she had more often called herself, was going to be very difficult to crack.

"You're going to have to be more specific, Miss Reed."

This clearly wasn't what the other woman wanted to hear.

"Fine, Dumbledore. If you insist on the formalities, I'll ask the question we both know the answer to. Why did you want me here?"

Annabelle crossed her arms and looked the Headmaster dead in the eye, waiting for his response. Dumbledore sighed and began to fiddle with the tiny green box in his hand. Perhaps if she saw it on her own rather than listening to his explanation...

"What is that?" the woman sitting across from him exclaimed, leaning over to get a better look at it.

Excellent.

"This," he mused, for his own benefit nearly as much as it was for Annabelle's, "is the answer to your question."

"Give it to me," she commanded in a whisper, her hand outstretched with a desperate, pleading look on her face.

Dumbledore obliged, gently placing the box into her waiting hand. His eyes never left her face as she turned it over and over in her hands, tracing the figures of the two snakes engraved on the cover slowly with her finger. Her expression was unreadable, even to Albus Dumbledore, who'd been able to read so many in the past. That old, familiar wall that she had so often used to hide her thoughts and emotions from the outside world was evident once again. However, her hands betrayed her. Albus saw them quiver, ever so slightly, as she brushed her fingers delicately over every inch of the surface of the box. She reluctantly let her eyes drift up from the object in her hands into the face of the man who had handed it to her.

"Where did you get this?" she asked so quietly that he could hardly hear her.

"Here in this office, actually," he replied, "I haven't the slightest idea as to who brought it here. I _had_ hoped that it would have been you, Annabelle, but I can see that I was incorrect."

"This is impossible," she said, her words coming out agonizingly slowly, as if they were being unwillingly wrenched from her throat, one by one, "I...I left it with..."

"With Tom?"

The silence that followed these two simple words was palpable. It seemed that this woman shied away from this man's given name in the same way that the rest of the wizarding world shied away from the name he had given himself.

"No," she said with a bitter anger ringing in her voice, "No, not Tom. If Tom were still there, I...I never would have had to leave. If it had been_ Tom_, sir, he never would have let me go. You know as well as I do that Tom Riddle has been dead for a long, long time."

Dumbledore wasn't so sure of that. Lord Voldemort was living, breathing proof that people _do_ change, and that change certainly isn't necessarily for the better. However, the idea that someone could lose every single part of themselves in the process...well that was unimaginable. There was hope; he was sure of it, but Annabelle Reed was going to take a great deal of convincing.

"Alright, alright," he feigned, "I suppose you're right."

"Don't give me that," she snapped, more in exasperation than in anger, "What are you playing at?"

He knew he wouldn't get away with this little trick so easily. Unfortunately for the woman sitting across from him, however, if ever Annabelle Reed had a match, that match would be Albus Dumbledore.

"I'm not playing at anything, my dear," that careful smile plastered on his face once again, "I am simply acknowledging that you are correct."

His former student's suspicion remained unsatisfied, "You asked me to come here all the way from the United States...to admit that I'm right?" she asked skeptically.

"Of course not!" he replied, chuckling quietly to himself, "And let us not pretend that it was so difficult for you to reach Britain from America; what with all the skill in magic I remember you possessing, I can't imagine it took much effort at all."

Ignoring Annabelle's irritated grimace, he went on, "I need your help," he stated very seriously.

"I won't speak to him if that's what you want. You've wasted your time."

Dumbledore faltered, but only for a moment, "I know how difficult this will be for you, Annabelle, but it could mean saving the lives of a countless number of people, so I'm going to ask anyway."

Annabelle waited, staring at him with a pointed glare, for him to ask his question, but the old wizard remained silent. He was studying her, attempting to find the best way to approach such a delicate situation. He scrutinized her while she squirmed in discomfort, unwilling to meet his gaze. Her old professor knew that sitting under his watchful eye for this long would make her feel vulnerable, and although she hated this feeling, perhaps it was precisely what she needed. After several minutes had gone by, she was seemingly unable to stand his silent observation of her any longer.

"Well?" she asked with a note of impatience, "What is it?"

Dumbledore remained silent for a few moments longer before deciding it would be better to beat around the bush just a bit more.

"Miss Reed, are you aware of what is in that box you're holding?"

The woman looked down at her hands, seemingly surprised that the tiny green box was still laying in them.

"I...wasn't aware that there was anything in it," she stated slowly and uncertainly, "it was empty the last I saw it."

Annabelle made no movement to open the box, only staring at the lid, so Dumbledore felt compelled to move things along a bit faster by revealing its contents to her himself.

"It contains a memory. Your memory, actually. Are you aware of which one I'm speaking of?"

"Yes," she answered, her tone monotonous, her expression unreadable.

"Then I believe you know what information it is that I'm looking for."

Now, it was Annabelle's turn to remain silent. Her utterly incomprehensible expression was frozen on her face as she brushed her thumb under the lid of the box in her hands. Supposedly deciding against actually looking at what it contained, she swiftly removed her thumb, causing the box to close again with a faint _click_. She bit her bottom lip as she reluctantly lifted her eyes to meet Dumbledore's again. When she spoke, her shaking voice gave away the emotion she so desperately tried to conceal.

"You don't understand," she said, closing her eyes as if the words themselves caused exhaustion, "I have worked _so hard_ for _so long_ to push back memories like this one. I've kept him locked away in parts of my mind that I don't dare to reach. _Please_, sir, don't ask me to remember."

"I have to. Again, I know how hard this is for you, but think of your parents."

"What do you know about my parents?" she interrupted, briefly brought out of the strange, melancholy state of mind she had been dragged into.

"A fairly long time ago, I made it my business to know everything there was to know about Gellert Grindelwald. He used horrible methods of murder, Annabelle, but Voldemort's are far worse in some cases. It's just possible that your story could save millions of others from that fate."

Annabelle did not take a moment to think it over, like Dumbledore was expecting. Her response came quickly and decisively, albeit she did not sound particularly enthusiastic while she gave it.

"Alright then, Dumbledore. You may want to make yourself comfortable, though, sir. It is, after all, a _very_ long story."

**A/N:** And a long story that we'll be diving into in the next chapter! I have the events mapped out for the next one, and for the following dozen or so, so it shouldn't take me long to update again. I do, however, need to make one important decision. I'm currently deciding whether Annabelle's story will be told in first person, relating it as she is actually telling it to Dumbledore, or in third person, describing the events as she remembers them rather than as she's speaking them. I'm leaning more towards the latter option, as it would give me more room to play around and give you readers more information than Annabelle would be willing to give to Dumbledore. We'll see. Any opinions on that and, of course, the chapter itself would be greatly appreciated! Thank you all for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!


	2. Rather Inconvenient Acquaintances

**A/N**- I decided to go with third person, which leaves the reader to determine for themselves which parts of this recollection are actually reported to Dumbledore and which are kept secret. Also, pay attention to this chapter. There will be brief and fairly vague mentions of Annabelle's roots and where she is coming from here, and the vagueness is done intentionally. Here, you will only be told what you need to know for where we are at in the story. The rest will be revealed and explained further in due time.

This was ridiculous.

There was simply no other word for it, and there was absolutely no explanation for this form of cruelty inflicted upon her by those she lived with other than complete and utter madness. There was _no reason_ for her to be _here_ of all places when she _should_ be doing something far more...what? Productive? Helpful? Useful...yes, that was the word. Of what use could she _possibly _be to the House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? She cursed under her breath as she slipped through the barrier at King's Cross Station onto platform nine and three quarters, wishing fervently that she were back at the House training or gathering needed information with the rest of the roughly two thousand youths living there in secret in order to prepare a revolt against a rising threat to wizarding society, _not_ attending school like every other average, ignorant child, pretending to be blissfully unaware of the mounting danger. She'd been told that the House required a spy within Hogwarts' walls, so that if the enemy had any followers, particularly Professors, training impressionable students in the Dark Arts, the House could be informed as soon as possible so that any necessary action could be taken. That was a load of rubbish. She'd obviously done something wrong, and Isaac wanted to get her out of the way. It had happened before. No one had been sent to _school, _of course, but they'd be sent on idle "missions" after proving themselves weak or unnecessary so that they wouldn't get in the way of those capable of learning the skills needed for the resistance. So, she was being punished for inadequacy. The only problem with this theory was that she hadn't the slightest idea what she'd done wrong. As far as she was concerned, she was keeping up with training just fine, _more_ than fine. Nothing added up.

Ah, well, there was no use in dwelling on it now. Isaac never once went back on a decision, so she was stuck, and she might as well make the most of it. Who knows? Maybe a bit of exposure back into the outside world would get her some valuable information. Yeah, right...but she could hope, couldn't she?

She heaved an enormous sigh as the final whistle sounded on the Hogwarts Express. Whether she liked it or not, she needed to get on that train. With a swift rolling of her eyes, she bounded across the platform and boarded the train just seconds before it started rolling down the tracks. She surveyed the aisle of compartments in front of her, hoping she'd be able to find an empty one so that she'd have time to fabricate a believable back story for herself. She could form one off the top of her head if necessary, but that was dangerous. One bright professor or, however unlikely, an exceedingly bright student would be enough to pinpoint any holes that might exist, and this simply couldn't be afforded. Much to her disappointment, however, there were no compartments left unoccupied. In fact, it was a challenge to find one with any room for her at all.

Surprisingly enough, the compartment furthest toward the back of the train contained only one girl. Peering in through the open curtain, Annabelle judged the girl to be twelve or thirteen years old. She was a very small, mousy looking girl with ragged, stringy brown hair pulled back into pigtails, sickly white skin that appeared to be nearly green, and light blue eyes adorned with very large, thick, perfectly round glasses. She was staring miserably out the window with her chin resting on her left hand.

Annabelle threw open the door as roughly as she could so that it would make a noise loud enough to announce her appearance. The girl jumped, and her head quickly snapped from the window to where Annabelle was now standing.

"Are you _lost_?" she asked with slight irritation ringing in her tiny voice, "Or did you come in here to make fun of me?"

Wonderful. She'd been landed with the school outcast. She didn't have time for this. Behaving cordially toward this girl would make her clingy and essentially give her extra baggage to carry around. She wasn't entirely sure she could handle the annoyance. Nevertheless, if she were to bully her, the results could be even more disastrous. She'd have already created a new enemy, and that was the last thing she needed. She knew better than to underestimate someone upon first meeting them, even when that someone appeared to be this...pathetic. Groaning inwardly, she plastered her very best cordial smile onto her face and addressed the scrawny little girl.

"Actually, I was just wondering if you'd mind if I sat with you. I'm new to Hogwarts, so..." she trailed off with perfectly executed uncertainty; Annabelle Reeds could act her way out of any given situation.

The girl appeared to have been caught off guard. Annabelle could guess that she'd never been approached in the past unless she was being tormented.

"Oh..." she said slowly, her eyebrows shooting upward, "I...I guess that would be alright..."

Annabelle flashed her most glowing smile and swiftly sat down on the seat across from the girl.

"I'm Myrtle, by the way," she said, sticking out her hand just a bit too eagerly, "Myrtle Engle."

"Heather Brown." Annabelle gave Myrtle the first name that came to her while grasping the other girl's hand briefly. Heather Brown...not bad.

There was a period of silence during which Annabelle stared out the window, secretly amused that the girl so obviously possessed no ability to communicate. Myrtle simply stared at her hands with an extreme air of awkwardness about her. Finally, she worked up the nerve to speak.

"You...you said that you're new to Hogwarts this year, right? You can't possibly be a first year..."

"No, I'll be in my sixth year," she replied, the wheels turning in her mind as she attempted to fabricate a sufficient back story, "I was home-schooled until now, but my parents no longer have the time further my education, nor the skill necessary to take me as far in my studies as I would like to go. I have more or less...exhausted their resources."

That would do just nicely. There was no harm in creating an intimidating reputation for herself early on, although she was certain that it would develop on its own once the term had commenced. She had no doubt that her time at the House had given her enough skill and talent to surpass that of any student here by a landslide. Although Isaac had advised her to keep her knowledge in check, and to make as many friends as possible so as to become better equipped to gather information, this seemed like a waste of time. As far as she was concerned, the only "friends" she needed were her enemies, meaning that she only needed to get close to someone if she suspected they were in league with Grindelwald, and since she had deemed that very unlikely, she might as well do things her way.

"I'm a third year," Myrtle piped up, the slight sense of apprehension never leaving her face, "and I'm in Ravenclaw. I hope you get sorted into my house."

This was a subject that intrigued Annabelle.

"What are these houses?" she asked, leaning forward a bit in her seat, "And what do you mean by 'sorted?'"

As Annabelle had expected, Myrtle launched happily into an explanation.

"Well, everyone gets Sorted in their first year. It's quite uncomfortable, actually. They make you sit on a stool right at the front of the Great Hall for the whole school to see, and they stick an enormous, ugly old talking hat on your head. That's the Sorting Hat, and it will put you into one of the four houses. You spend most of your time with the people in your own house. Like I said, I'm in Ravenclaw, the house for the cleverest, wisest witches and wizards. Then there's Hufflepuff, for the very compassionate people, and Gryffindor for the brave, and Slytherin for the ambitious. Which house do you think you'll be in?"

Annabelle thought for a moment, analyzing her own personal qualities and matching them up to that of each house. She discarded Hufflepuff as a possibility immediately; compassion wasn't exactly her strong point. Ravenclaw was unlikely as well. She got to the level of skill she was at through hard work, not inherent intellect. That left Gryffindor and Slytherin. There could be no doubting her ambition. Revenge was certainly a factor of her obsession with bringing down Grindelwald, but there was so much more behind it. She did not merely want Grindelwald to be overpowered; _she_ wanted to be the one to do it. She wanted the glory and recognition that would follow, and above all, she wanted the unimaginable to occur. Despite being a woman, she wanted to be offered the position of Minister of Magic. She craved the power and sense of importance that came with the title. Her bravery was an entirely different story. She was only brave when she needed to be, and she was never reckless if only because she couldn't afford to be. That could hardly be characteristic of Gryffindor, so that meant...

"I'll be in Slytherin," she mused in a near murmur, speaking more to herself than to Myrtle, "I'm almost positive."

Myrtle appeared to be disappointed and a bit disgusted, as if the idea repulsed her.

"I sure hope not," she said, "All of the most _dreadful_ people end up in Slytherin. You seem nice enough, though, so I'm sure the Sorting Hat will put you somewhere else."

Annabelle couldn't help but laugh at the misconception that ambition was an evil, destructive quality. Utterly ridiculous.

"What's so funny" Myrtle asked, arching her eyebrows warily, obviously afraid that she was being made fun of.

"I find it hard to believe that a house was made entirely for horrible people," Annabelle answered, a grin still playing on her lips, "Surely there must be _one_ decent Slytherin."

Myrtle thought for a moment before shaking her head.

"No. They're all horrid, and that Olive Hornby is the worst of them. And then there's that awful group of boys that..."

She trailed off, appearing to be lost in her own thoughts.

"That what?"

"What? Oh, those boys that hang around Tom Riddle. I was just thinking that _he_ doesn't seem quite so bad. Maybe he just surrounds himself with horrible people."

The remainder of the journey passed by in relative silence, both girls staring contentedly out the window. Before long, the train came to a stop in front of a magnificent castle overlooking a large lake.

Annabelle glanced up at the enormous building with only mild interest. She'd been shown pictures of the place, and therefore wasn't taken too off-guard by its splendor. Myrtle, on the other hand, was behaving as if it were _she_ was seeing the castle for the first time. ("Oh, oh, isn't just _marvelous_, Heather?) Eager to be rid of her increasingly irritating companion, Annabelle slipped out of the compartment, and bounded down the aisle, running directly into a student who must have been equally keen to detach himself from his compartment.

The boy slammed the book he'd been buried in closed and swung around to face her, the look on his face that of pure malice. He had jet black hair combed perfectly away from his eyes, not a strand out of place, and his eyes were a surprisingly deep shade of brown that might even be considered black. He was quite possibly the palest person she had ever come across, and she wondered briefly if he were suffering some kind of illness. The strange look on his face took her aback for a moment, but her face remained a perfect mask of innocent composure.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, straightening out her robes as an excuse to break eye contact with the boy, "I guess I just wasn't looking where I was going."

"No, I suppose you weren't," the look of malice was now gone from his eyes, and replaced with a completely impassive expression, "I do not recall seeing you before. Are you a new student?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Yes," said Annabelle, hiding her amusement at this boy's confidence in his knowledge of everyone at Hogwarts, "My name is Heather Brown," she offered, sticking out her hand in greeting.

"Tom Riddle," he said with a curt nod; he had either not noticed her hand or had blatantly ignored it, "I am one of the school's Prefects, so if you will follow me, I can direct you to the gamekeeper outside the train. He will bring you and the other first years to the castle."

"I'm not a first year," Annabelle replied indignantly, "Do I seem eleven years old to you?"

With a roll of his eyes, Riddle replied, "Of course not, Brown, but you have yet to be Sorted, am I incorrect?"

When Annabelle gave no reply, he said "Then you are to enter the castle with the first years and be Sorted amongst them when you are admitted into the Great Hall."

With that, he turned swiftly on his heals and headed for the train's exit, leaving Annabelle to run in order to catch up with him. Once outside the train, she lost Tom Riddle in the sea of black cloaks that had quickly formed around the platform of the train.

It appeared his assistance was unnecessary, however, as a loud, booming voice cried out, "Oi! First years, first years over here! All first years to the far right of the platform! FIRST YEARS!"

This was going to be a _long_ year.

**A/N-** Sorry about how long this took to update. Microsoft Word was giving me some trouble. Yes, I realize that the pace has been very slow so far, but starting on the next chapter, it will start to pick up. Thanks for reading, and if you are so inclined, reviewing!


End file.
